PRAISE FOR THE HOPE DIAMOND TRILOGY
The Millionaire Rogue
“The quest to find the elusive French Blue diamond in Regency England is fraught with danger in the clever second installment of Peterson’s Hope Diamond Trilogy . . . The romance is enticing, with a strong mystery propelling the story forward, and the characters are witty and real.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Romance and intrigue make an irresistible combination in Peterson’s latest, in which an intrepid woman and an enigmatic man find true love, despite the dictates of society.”
—Booklist
“The Hope Diamond Trilogy continues with a wildly exciting and steamy adventure that captivates and intrigues, luring readers into the mystery surrounding the infamous jewel. Peterson keeps the romance and the danger moving forward at a rapid pace, and with all the surprising twists, readers will be left breathless and highly satisfied.”
—RT Book Reviews
The Gentleman Jewel Thief
“Overflows with adventure, suspense, and fast-paced action . . . A fresh new voice in historical romance.”
—Shana Galen, author of The Spy Wore Blue
“Deliciously fun! What a lovely, witty book—I can’t wait to see what Jessica Peterson does next!”
—Kate Noble, author of If I Fall
“The fabled Hope Diamond is the centerpiece of Peterson’s charming trilogy, where she mixes one very bad-boy gentleman with a headstrong heroine, a stolen gem, a duel, a band of acrobats, and an exiled French king. If that isn’t enough, she peppers the Hope Diamond series starter with steamy love scenes, wild escapades, and a laugh or two. Peterson keeps the pace flying and readers hanging on to their utter joy.”
—RT Book Reviews
Berkley Sensation titles by Jessica Peterson
THE GENTLEMAN JEWEL THIEF
THE MILLIONAIRE ROGUE
THE UNDERCOVER SCOUNDREL
Published by the Berkley Publishing Group
An imprint of Penguin Random House
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
THE UNDERCOVER SCOUNDREL
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with Peterson Paperbacks, LLC
Copyright © 2015 by Jessica Peterson.
Excerpt from The Gentleman Jewel Thief by Jessica Peterson copyright © 2014 by Jessica Peterson.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY SENSATION® and the “B” design are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
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eBook ISBN:978-0-698-14162-9
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / June 2015
Cover art by Aleta Rafton.
Cover design by George Long.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
To my friends, who’ve been there for me when boys—and hope, and sanity, and opportunity—disappeared over the years. Thanks for helping me keep the faith, ladies—I love you!
Contents
Praise for the Hope Diamond Trilogy
Berkley Sensation titles by Jessica Peterson
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Historical Note
Preview of The Gentleman Jewel Thief
Prologue
Oxfordshire
Summer 1800
Their vows echoed off the chapel’s mottled ceiling, rising and swooping like birds to surround the couple in soft whispers of faith and hope and love.
“Rings?” the vicar said, arching a brow.
For a moment the groom’s eyes went wide, and then, plucking the pale green ribbon from his queue, he released a curtain of red hair about his shoulders. He used his teeth to cut the ribbon in two. Tying one length into a small circlet, he slid it onto the bride’s fourth finger.
A sea of flickering candles held the darkness at bay as Lady Caroline Townshend was kissed for the first time by her husband. Joy welled up inside her and she smiled against the warm press of Henry Beaton Lake’s lips.
He kissed her far less chastely than was proper at a wedding, even a secret one. He kissed her as if every stroke, every pull, every move of their lips roused, rather than satiated, a growing need inside him.
Henry held her face in his hands, guiding her toward him as he pressed a kiss to one corner of her mouth, then the other. Breathless, Caroline stood on the tips of her toes to meet his caresses, streaks of light and bursts of color illuminating the backs of her closed eyelids.
The vicar, a rather less romantic fellow than Romeo and Juliet’s priest, shut his ancient Bible with a censorial thwunk.
Blushing, Caroline fell back from Henry, their hands entwining between them.
Lips pursed, eyes wide, the vicar glared at them. “God. Sees. Everything.”
In a whirl of black he turned and stalked down the aisle, shaking his head at young people these days and their carnal proclivities. Caroline’s lady’s maid, Nicks—the one and only witness—hurried after him.
Beside Caroline, Henry shook with repressed laughter.
“How much did you pay him?” she whispered.
“Clearly not enough.”
“Will he tell our parents?”
Henry ran his thumb across the back of her hand. “I should hope not. Though he doesn’t seem to like us ve
ry much.”
“Then we haven’t much time.”
“Do you mean to ravish me, Mrs. Lake?”
“I do indeed.”
“Let’s get on with it, then,” he said, and swung her into his arms.
* * *
Caroline grasped the windowsill and, as Henry gave her a boost from below, somersaulted into his bedchamber. Inside the room it was quiet and dark, save for a single lit taper on the bedside table.
“Really,” she panted, wiping her hands on her skirts. “Why not use the kitchen door? Your parents are still at my house for the ball.”
Henry landed noiselessly on his feet, closing the window behind him. “Where’s the challenge in that? Besides, I like all this sneaking about. Suits the secret marriage bit, don’t you think?”
He took her outstretched hands and pulled her a smidge too enthusiastically to her feet. Her nose bumped against the hardened center of his chest.
“Oh,” he said, thumbing her chin. “Oh, Caroline, I’m terribly sorry. Are you all right? I only meant to, um . . . I forget sometimes that you’re so little, you see; I’m used to my brothers, as you know they’re rather large . . .”
Caroline looked up at Henry. Large was an understatement; like his older brothers, Henry was a broad-shouldered, ginger-haired giant with the wickedest cheekbones she had ever seen. His green eyes were even wickeder (if that was a word)—so brightly suggestive, so darkly penetrating, Caroline feared she might burst into flames every time he looked at her.
“I’ll have a devil of a time explaining that to my mother.”
Henry angled his neck and brushed his lips to her injured nose. “Bloody business, marriage.”
“Mm-hm,” she said, burrowing farther into the circle of his arms. Her ring of ribbon slipped from her finger—it was a tad too large—and she coaxed it back into place.
His hand slid from her cheek to cup the back of her neck. With his thumb he tilted her head and caught her mouth with his. He kissed her deeply, passionately, as if he were out to steal not only her heart but her soul, her body, her being.
Henry took her bottom lip between his teeth. She saw stars.
His hands were on her face now; Caroline clung to his wrists, fearful the rush in her knees might cause them to give out. She felt the scattershot beat of his pulse beneath her fingers, the jutting architecture of his bones. Strength rippled beneath the surface of his skin, strength she felt him struggling to restrain.
And yet he touched her with great care, gently, as awed by her shape as she was of his. His fingers tangled in the hair at her temples as his mouth moved to her neck, working the tender skin there with his lips.
Caroline let out a breath, desperate, suddenly, to be free of her stays and ridiculously ruffled muslin gown. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think; she was lost in the longing she’d felt for Henry from the moment they met eyes across the garden, three weeks before.
She was hardly seventeen, set to make her debut at St. James’s the following spring. Even so, Caroline knew the intensity of her feelings for Henry was a rare thing, rare and fragile. The world seemed fanatically intent on nipping such reckless affection in the bud before it ever had a chance to bloom.
But Caroline was intent on blooming. Beneath Henry’s careful, confident touch, his insistent caresses, she felt herself unravel and open, giving as Henry took, and took, and kept taking.
She slipped her hands beneath the lapels of his jacket. Henry rolled back his shoulders and shrugged free of the garment, tossing it aside. He began to move forward, pressing his body into hers as he guided her farther into the room. His fingers found purchase in a row of buttons between the blades of her shoulders, working them free one at a time.
“Hold up your arms, darling,” he murmured against her mouth, and gently coaxed the gown over her head.
It fell with a rustling sigh to the floor. The night air felt coolly potent against the bare skin of her arms. She shivered.
Henry gathered her in his arms, surrounding her body with the heat of his own. She could smell his skin, the clean, citrusy spice of his soap. Her desire soared.
In a hushed frenzy of movement, they unclothed one another: his waistcoat, her stays, his neckcloth. His head caught in his shirt, and after several futile attempts to remove it, Henry ripped it open. Buttons ricocheted about the room, landing with small pings as they rolled across the floor.
Caroline stared at his bare chest. She swallowed.
Henry took her hands and placed them on the center of his breastbone. She inhaled at the shock of warmth that met with her palms, the spring of wiry hair. She could feel his heart beating proudly within the cage of his ribs. Proudly, wildly, an echo of her own.
In the darkness she bent her neck, and pressed her lips to his chest. He inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling beneath the working of her lips across his collarbone, up the corded slope of his neck.
Heavens, but she hoped his parents would not return for some hours yet; Caroline couldn’t have kept quiet if she’d wanted.
His fingers tugged at the neckline of her chemise as he took her bare shoulder in his mouth. The heat between her legs burned hotter. Henry coaxed the garment down the length of her body, releasing one breast, then the other. Quickly his mouth moved to take her nipple between his teeth, rolling it in the velvet touch of his tongue. The sensation was so poignant it hurt.
“Henry,” she breathed, tangling her fingers in his hair. “Please. Show me.”
He raised his head, eyes luminescent, translucent; they were warm and soft and they were on her, gleaming with desire.
“I was hoping you’d show me,” he replied.
“You’ve never? Never . . . you’re almost twenty, I thought . . .”
“This is to be the first time for both of us, I’m afraid.”
“Then I really am to ravage you.”
He grinned. “If you don’t mind terribly.”
His mouth came down on hers, and he was digging at the pins in her hair with impatient fingers. She heard them fall, one by one, until at last her hair tumbled in soft waves about her shoulder blades. Henry drew his hands through its tangled mass to rest on the naked small of her back. He pulled her to him, skin to skin; the hardened knots of her nipples brushed against his chest and she nearly cried out in agony, in desire.
The backs of Caroline’s thighs met with the bed. Henry grasped her hips, and her breath caught in her throat as he tossed her lightly onto the mattress. The coverlet felt cool and deliciously soft against her bare skin.
Henry looked down upon her with narrowed eyes, his face suddenly tight.
“Caroline,” he said roughly, slowly. “You are so . . . so very lovely. Beautiful.”
He ran a hand up the side of her rib cage, cupping her breast; he thumbed her nipple and she arched into his touch.
And then both his hands moved to her legs, sliding off her stockings; his fingers were in the waistband of her pantalets, tugging them over the smooth expanse of her belly, her knees.
Caroline was naked. She winced at the sudden rush of cool air against the beating throb of her sex. Please, she prayed. Please let it be soon.
Henry unbuttoned his breeches and swept them down to his ankles. He rose; Caroline stared at his cock, heavy with need, as unrepentantly enormous and thickly veined as the rest of his body. It jutted out from the sharp angle of his hips, unembarrassed, and she was at once hesitant and terribly curious.
“Caroline,” he said.
She swallowed. “I’m all right.”
“Caroline,” he said again. “We don’t have to do this. I couldn’t bear it if I hurt you, if you weren’t ready.”
For a beat he did not move, as if waiting for her to change her mind, waiting for her to roll over and demand he escort her home, take back all they’d said and done this night.
“I want to,” she said. “We’re married now, remember? We get to do this at last.”
Caroline sat up and reached for him. He drew a breath as her hand followed the narrowing trail of hair down his hardened belly; his whole body tensed when she wrapped her hand around his cock. He felt hard and soft all at once, the skin impatiently hot and silken. She put her mouth on his belly. One of his hands went to her hair while the other moved down to cover her own around his manhood.
“How?” she whispered.
“Like this,” he said, and together their hands moved up and down the length of his cock, once, twice, until he groaned and pulled away, suddenly, as if she’d hurt him.
“Caroline,” he said, his face in her hair. “I love you.”
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I can’t wait much longer. I want—I need you. Badly. Here.” He reached behind him, producing his rumpled shirt. “Lie down on this, love. I’m afraid you might bleed.”
Bleed?
She swallowed for what felt the hundredth time that night. He wasn’t kidding about marriage being a bloody business.
Wedging the shirt beneath Caroline’s bottom, Henry coaxed her back onto the bed. He took her knees in his hands and moved them apart, stepping forward so that he was wedged between her legs. She was wide open to him. She was afraid; she was overwhelmingly aroused.
Henry reached down and they both drew a breath when his first two fingers slipped between her slick curls, revealing a warmth, a wetness, that neither of them expected. Her desire soared; she ached for him to be inside her.
“You’re”—he swallowed—“ready?”
“Yes,” she panted. “Please, Henry.”
“Once we . . . I can’t stop then.”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
He stepped forward. The bed was set high, so high that, even while standing, Henry’s hips were level with hers. He put his hands on the inside of her thighs, pushing her legs even wider.
“Bend your knees about me,” he said.
Caroline did as she was told. He wrapped her bent legs about his hips, hooking her feet at his buttocks. She felt his fingers on her sex, holding her open as, with his other hand, he guided his cock into her folds. He nudged against her, wincing.
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